The master’s manly hairs
hovered between her sun and stars.
The Messiah will tread on the earth a second time,
had rejoiced the maimed and the broken.
The diabolic pseudo-doyen, splayed across M’s faint shadow, veiling
the womb cradled by Muse, watched over by Poesy,
lullabied by the Ancient bards!
The serpentine hiss parked on his tongue,
he vigorously stomped his feet on the pregnant belly.
This time, the Pilate did not waste time searching for the Truth.
Judas was saved.
Peter and the cock did not appear on stage.
The Calvary was spared a cross,
and Joseph did not have to hunt for a vacant tomb.
Salvation called off,
in a single, powerful kick.